


Ballad of a Robin

by MissScorp



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Brotherhood, Bruce Wayne is Dead, Damian is sick, Dick Grayson is Batman, F/M, Family Angst, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fatherhood, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship, Motherhood, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-18 09:44:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11871702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScorp/pseuds/MissScorp
Summary: AU: Damian Wayne discovers there is a difference between a 'mother' and a 'mom' after he falls gravely ill.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all, and welcome! Getting the legal out of the way but I own nothing save for my general storyline and original characters. This story is a what-if story that explores what life would be like if Bruce Wayne really died at the end of the Final Crisis.
> 
> Please, if you like this story, kudo/bookmark it. Also, comments are deeply cherished!

Damian Wayne was dying.  _Correction_ , he amended silently. He  _thought_ he was dying. that this was what it would feel like if he was dying. Every inch of his body hurt. Even his  _hair_  hurt and man who was a really weird pain to feel he thought as he struggled to find a comfortable place to lay. In the quiet of his bedroom, his breathing was loud and raspy; his entire body shuddered with it. And he was hot... so very, very hot. He must have fidgeted or made some type of sound because suddenly a cool cloth was being laid across his forehead and a soft voice was whispering to him that he would, "Feel better in a few minutes."

That the owner of that voice was a woman that he pretended to barely tolerate when he was healthy was a fact not lost upon the boy known around the world as  _Robin_. Having to remember to keep up his scornful pretense and disdain was forgotten in the instant that moist rag got set upon his overheated flesh. Damian let out a little moan at the momentary relief from the fires licking at his insides and was further rewarded when her cool hand cupped his cheek, thumb stroking gently, soothingly over his parched flesh. Then she set a cool rag on his aching belly and oh! she was his bestest friend in the whole wide world now! And he couldn't care less who knew it. He was simply too close to death to care if the world found out his dirty little secret. A moment later, the fire returned, raging hotter than before and igniting his vitriolic temper.

"Kean," he whispered, and the harsh, choking sound of his voice shocked him. "Go...  _away_."

He didn't mean it and he, as well as the woman still stroking his cheek, knew it. A small part of Damian wished that it was his mother crooning softly to him. And her fingers skimming his cheek. And her whispering to him that the worst would "soon be over." Ah, but that was ridiculous! Frivolous! Preposterous even! His mother could never do those lowly things! Those were things designed for nurses or nannies. Not like his mother was that kind of mother, anyway. She wasn't the kind of person to notice when he needed cuddling and coddling.

She would never indulge him in such a childish want and need. Another part of Damian opted for honesty - cold, brutal honesty - and reminded him about how his mother only noticed him when he was part of the team threatening to stop one of her plans from coming to fruition. Hadn't she told him that she only needed him when it served to hurt or distract either his father or his new guardian, Dick Grayson?

Quite simply, his mother was not the kind of mother who would sit at his bedside and hold his hand while he battled an illness. His mother was not the kind of mother who'd run her fingers through his sweat-damp hair, or rub his back as he threw up the contents of his stomach for the millionth time. She wouldn't read him his favorite book or coax him into eating that god awful stuff Pennyworth called chicken-noodle soup by bringing him lime Jello. His mother would not have spent three days watching every Jet Li and Jackie Chan film, or... or... or... every thought fled the moment that soft lips brushed his forehead in a kiss that he didn't react to with his typical  _how-dare-you-touch-me-like-that-_ attitude.

His mother never kissed him like that, he thought, long-buried resentment and hurt raging with the illness for dominance over his body. She'd never thought it important to show her son any type of warmth or affection. And she'd only scoff if someone told her that he needed nurturing. She'd say he was an assassin, a élite specimen of genetic perfection and had no need for such trivial human emotions. His mother had no idea about the deep, almost drowning need he had for her love. Or how desperately he needed to know she wanted him.  _Not that she'd care even if she did know_ , the ten-year-old thought bitterly.

Again that honest side reared its ugly head and whispered to him about how his mother had never gone out of her way to actually understand the son she'd had her team of scientists and doctors create out of a mix of her genetic material, and the genetic material that she'd stolen from his father. She'd certainly not understood that his decision to stay with Grayson as his Robin was not an act of defiance or betrayal, but the only way in which he could still feel close to his father. And she certainly had not understood why her son preferred to wear the cape and mask of Robin over the spandex bodysuit of an Assassin.

_And that_ , he realized as another round of nausea nearly overtook him, was because his mother never once saw that she had any type of responsibility towards him as his maternal parent. She didn't see she was both his  _Mom_ as well as his  _Mother_. She absolved herself of any responsibility once she dumped him into his father's lap. She assumed her role was done once she finished grooming him and walked away without even a backward glance.

She'd certainly never thought about his needing her guidance and influence as much as he needed his father's. And she'd never anticipated that a woman, a longtime friend, and associate of Grayson's, would take one look at him and decide to take up that mantle that his mother was neglecting. And she took on that responsibility not because she had to, Damian knew now, but because she  _wanted_  to.

It had been Kean and not his own mother, who had been there for him in the year since Father's death. Kean was who helped him through every step of the grieving process. It was Kean, and not his mother, who fostered his want to find his identity as the son of Bruce Wayne and as Robin. And it had been Kean who encouraged him to spread his wings and try whatever things suited him. She convinced him that it was okay to explore the world around him. She took him to plays he told her that he wanted to see, signed him up for classes that he wanted to take, allowed him to go on solo missions much to the protestations and disapproval of both Grayson and that imbecilic moron,  _Drake_.

Oh, it had infuriated his mother when she discovered someone of  _inferior breeding_  was helping raise  _her_ son. She had unleashed an army of her Man-Bats upon Gotham and sent some of her best Assassins to swarm Wayne Manor. And found herself at the tip of a sword wielded by the very woman she'd come to kill for having usurped her place as his mother.

His mother had more than met her match that day because the woman his mother claimed was  _inferior,_ had called a _usurper,_ had fought like a female grizzly bear protecting her cub. Kean had point-blank told his mother that if she "ever came near her Robin again," that she'd "forget about her training and commitment to defending life" and "end her."

It was at the moment when his mother was at the point of Kean's sword - well, it was really Father's sword, but that wasn't important - that Damian learned that there was a difference between  _Mothers_ and  _Moms_. Moms weren't created at the point of conception. Nor were they an occasional and disruptive intrusion in their child's life. Moms were a rare and special type of person. They stepped up and did what mothers either refused to do or could not do for one reason or another. They put the needs of their child ahead of their own and did what was necessary to protect their child from harm. They loved that child without attaching conditions to that love. Moms  _chose_  to be Moms. And they remained moms until the day they died. And for all that Talia al Ghul liked to think of herself as his mother, she was absolutely not his  _mom_.

Because she wasn't the one who had fresh-baked peanut butter cookies waiting when he got home from a late-nightpatrol. And she didn't try to cheer him up when he was sad by telling him about one of Graysons's hilariously embarrassing mishaps as Robin. Nor did she try to tease him out of one of his black moods by telling him some lame joke that had him rolling his eyes more often than not. His mother would never put up with his surliness, or patiently wait until his temper tantrum was over before calmly asking him "what's wrong."

She wouldn't listen to his suggestions, or ask his advice, or include him in "family decisions." She certainly had never asked him what his hopes and dreams were. And knew nothing about his likes and dislikes. She didn't know that his favorite movie was Martian Child. Or that he loved chocolate ice cream with peanut butter cups crumbled on top. She didn't know that his least favorite season was winter and that he loved decorating for Halloween. She definitely didn't know about his secret obsession with cats. And she'd never have gone out of her way to track down that cat figurine he'd seen in a shop window when he was in Hong Kong two summers before and been too terrified to ask his father to buy for him.

And she wouldn't be looking down at him now, green eyes bright with concern as they took in his flushed features, his blue eyes dilated with fever. She would have left him in the care of whatever doctors and nurses she'd hired to take care of him, and gone about her own business as if she didn't have a care in the world beyond satisfying her own personal agenda. Nor would she, when he began to whimper from the pain, crawl into bed next to him and fold him in her arms. Or begin to sing that dumb song that he'd never admit out loud that he loved listening to her sing. Not that he needed to tell her he thought, burying his face in the curve of her shoulder. Moms, he'd discovered, just knew those kinds of things.

Yeah, Talia al Ghul may have been his  _mother_ , but she most definitely was not his  _mom_. Because his mom was a warm and real woman who smelled like the air after a summer rainstorm. His mom was the one always waiting with a smile, with a hug that he'd feign disdain for of course, with a kind word. His mom was the one who would be there when he woke up in the morning. Just as she'd been there every morning for the last year. And as he began to drift slowly to sleep, lulled by her soft, bluesy voice and the feel of her curled around him, his last thought was:  _Grayson, you'd better not screw up what we have here._


	2. Chapter 2

He'd never call her  _mom_.

She'd never admit he was her  _son_.

Yet as Dick watched Raya soothe the fractious and feverish boy, he told himself that that was exactly what they were.

And they were both  _his_.

He leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb and listened while she softly sang to the fuming Robin.  _He's not_ _yours, though, Rae?_ It was then that the realization struck him about how Damian was not just  _hers_. He was  _theirs_. Theirs to love, theirs to hold, and theirs to watch grow into manhood.

Theirs because his mother wasn't capable of loving him.

Theirs because his father had been stolen from him.

Damian had become an orphan the night Bruce Wayne perished at the hands of Darkseid. Same as he had become an orphan the night John and Mary Grayson were murdered. Same as Raya had become an orphan the night her father murdered her mother. It was a vicious, vicious circle. One that Dick wished his Robin had not been subjected to. Sadly, Damian was a point now upon that deathly knot. And he was now  _theirs_ because of it.

If someone, anyone would have told him that this was going to be his life twelve months ago, he'd have scoffed at them.

Told them that there was absolutely no fricken way.

That it was simply ludicrous for them to think, to even suggest that the venerable Batman was going to fall to Darkseid.

"It wouldn't happen," he'd say. "It won't happen."

End. Of. Subject.

And while he would hesitantly admit that it was, indeed, possible that Bruce would ask him to don the infamous cape and cowl while he took some much-needed downtime, he'd point out that it was only going to be for a few months.

Bruce Wayne was far from ready to hand over Batman's cape and cowl and  _he_  was far from ready to permanently wear it. Plus, he'd have pointed out how he was far more comfortable patrolling Gotham as Nightwing than he was as Batman. Dick Grayson had finally managed to craft his own image and had absolutely no need to step into the larger than life one of Batman's.

 _Then again_ , he mused now.  _It's not like I would have believed them when they said that I was going to become both the guardian and mentor of Bruce Wayne's son, Damian, either._

"Yeah, right," he'd have scoffed. "No way am I becoming responsible for the son of Talia al Ghul."

There was no need for him to step forward and become Damian's guardian. Besides that, he had been all of twenty-five, a bachelor, and in no way ready to become a parent.

He'd told them how it was all pointless speculation.

None of those things were ever going to happen.

He had been wrong.

Utterly, horribly, irrevocably,  _wrong_.

All of those things he'd scoffed at, that he waved off, laughed at, had come true.

Unthinkably, unimaginably, unbelievably,  _true_.

Batman  _had_ fallen during the  _Final Crisis._  And they knew this because it was the Man of Steel who had placed the Dark Knight's burned and empty husk at the feet of his grief-stricken friends and family. It was also Superman who put the casket that was bearing Batman's remains into the cold, hard ground on that rainy morning. The days following Bruce's death had been the single most difficult days of his life. Not only was he dealing with his grief over  _Bruce's_  death, but he was also having to deal with the aftermath of  _Batman's_  death at the same time.

And he was having to deal with family and friends all telling him about what he should do, what he had to do...

... what he  _couldn't_  do because of the request Bruce made in his  _Last Will and Testament_.

A request that Dick now saw as a plea for him to not live the lonely, dreary existence that his father had lived. Bruce told him to find a balance between his life as a crime fighter and his life as Richard Grayson. And instructed him to find "love and happiness." To "get married and have a family of his own." And absolutely begged him,  _begged_  him to " _live, not simply exist_."

Oh, he'd tried-like the good birdie that Jason always accused him of being, to abide by Bruce's wishes. He took to the streets of Gotham as Nightwing, utilizing Tim and Damian both to help restore order to the city. But keeping an after-death promise to your father with your brother hell-bent on tarnishing everything that your father lived and died for, was next to impossible. He'd finally had no choice but to step into that infamous role, to assert himself as the rightful wearer of that costume, and slowly carve out his own legacy as the Dark Knight.

And yet, it was finding himself standing on that very same plateau that Bruce, himself, had stood upon the night his parents had been killed that was going to be the one that ultimately changed his life the most. Dick had been nine when Bruce had taken him as his ward, and just of turning ten when he had become Robin. They quickly emerged as the Dynamic Duo. The brooding and grim Batman with his more lighthearted sidekick Robin.

He and Bruce had managed to forge a relationship that went well beyond that of simple  _partners_. They were much more than  _apprentice-protégé_ , more even than just  _guardian_  and  _ward_. It had taken him quite a long time - and some not-so-gentle prodding by a green-eyed Fenix - for him to come around to admitting that Bruce Wayne was his father.

Bruce filled the hole that the death of John Grayson had left inside him. He had become the parent he needed, wanted. That same hole had now been left within Damian.  _Unfortunately_ , he thought, folding his arms over his chest. It was a hole Dick planned to do everything he could in order to fill.  _Just like you would want me to do_ , he said silently to his absent parent.

 _And why am I willing to step up to that plate now_?

Because he was twenty-six, he was Batman, and he was now more than okay with being  _dad_  to his adoptive father's son. He was confident that he  _could_  be the kid's dad. He wanted to be Damian's dad, in fact.

His life was not the particular one that he envisioned himself living.  _It's a whole lot better than what I was envisioning,_ he thought, his lips curving with the love warming his heart _. I have the girl, a kid, and a family that needs me_.

He still missed Bruce, of course. Some days so much that it hurt. However, Dick was happier now than he had been at twenty-five. Hell, he was happier now than he'd been at twenty-one. Some of that, he knew, was because of the woman that was curled around the ill boy. Raya had been there beside him through every life-changing event.

The night he'd knocked upon her uncle's door had been the absolute lowest point in his life. Struggling with his grief, with his anger and confusion (and hounded by friends and family all demanding that he take up the mantle of Batman), he'd gone to the only person he could think of who'd offer him the comfort he so desperately needed: his best friend.

Raya had not just given him the warmth and comfort he'd needed, though. She'd shocked him by stepping up to the plate and becoming the partner he'd needed, as well. They'd talked all that night about what their options were, about what it was they thought Bruce would want them to do, what he'd expect them to do. Together, they'd come up with the simplest of solutions for what they needed to do: remain a family.

 _And we are a family,_  Dick thought as he sat on the edge of the bed and reached over to brush his fingers through Damian's sweat damp hair.  _An unusual family... but a family nonetheless._

"Is he feeling any better?" he asked in a hushed tone.

o.O.o

Raya studied Dick silently. He had removed the black body armor, the scalloped cape, cowl, and gloves. In his haste, though to check on Damian, he had forgotten to pull on a pair of the cotton sleep shorts that he normally wore to bed. The fact that he was sitting there in the bat-logo boxers she'd gotten him as a gag gift for his birthday was so absolutely absurd that it had a small gurgle of laughter rising in her throat.  _And you didn't think you were ready or able to be a good daddy_ , she thought as she choked back her laughter.  _You're doing a pretty damn good job of it so far, bird boy_.

"Yeah, some," she kept her voice down, went to unfurl her body from around that of their baby bird, but Dick stopped her with a gentle hand on her side.

"Don't get up."

"But..."

" _You've_ had your hands full taking care of Damian damn near around the clock for the last three days." His tone was firm. " _You_  need to get some rest."

"All right," she conceded with a sigh. "But have Alfred warm you some dinner. You got called downtown before you could eat."

He shook his head. "I'm not hungry."

 _No, he looked tired all of the sudden_ , she realized. Bone-weary. It stirred her, a mixture of sympathy and understanding. She patted the space behind her.

"Come to bed, buzzard for brains."

"I love when you use those particular words, Rae." He gave her what almost passed for a cheeky grin. "But not tonight. I'm way too tired and we have a sick Robin in our bed."

She humphed; rolled her eyes.

"You'll recall that it was me using those particular words that led to the soon-to-be addition to our nest, Batbrain."

o.O.o

His hand slid to her slightly rounded belly. A protective possessiveness filled him whenever he thought of the life that was growing beneath his palm. A life they'd created together and which was going to be the best-and-worst of them both. Thinking about their son or daughter filled him with a giddy elation, a quiet contentment, and excitement. However, there was also a fear inside him, too. A dark, twisted mass that reminded him of Gotham being a cornucopia of violence, lust, and greed.

A place where children so often got caught in the crosshairs, became the innocent victims of the war being fought around them. He'd do whatever he had to, fight harder, longer, smarter, to ensure that Gotham's stain never touched either of his children.  _I promise that I will do everything I can to keep you safe_. He glanced at Damian; saw the boy was still resting quietly.  _I will do everything that I have to, to protect you both_.

o.O.o

Raya watched his face become a mask of hard angles and planes; determination incarnate. A warrior who had found a cause and who was going to defend what was his until his last breath. Like good dads do.  _And he's become an awesome dad_ , she thought affectionately. With Damian, he was unfailingly patient, quietly understanding, and unwaveringly supportive. He was also openly affectionate, fiercely protective, and abundantly honest.

When it came to punishments he was firm but fair. And he was always there to listen, no matter how tired or busy he was. He was everything that either Bruce Wayne or John Grayson could have hoped him to be. And more than either man would ever know that he was. The thought filled her with a moment's sadness.  _You'd both be so proud of the man you raised_.

"Have you talked with Damian about the baby?" he asked her. "Has he questioned why you haven't been going out on patrols?"

"No," she said with a small sigh. "He hasn't questioned anything, yet. Tim has."

"I'm not surprised about Tim figuring out something was up."

"He is most like Bruce there." Her lips curved. "Besides, we only found out for sure ourselves a few days ago." She looked back at Damian. "Besides, I didn't want to dump this on him while he was sick. I figure that soon as he's better we'll sit down and talk about the baby with him."

"I just hope that he takes the news  _reasonably_  well."

"It's a big change, Dick." Raya's fingers linked with his. "For us as much as for him."

"I know," he sighed once, softly. "I'm just worried about new-baby jealousy."

"As long as we keep reminding him that we love him, that we will always be there for him and assuring him that the baby will not, in any way, replace him either in our hearts, or in this family, we should be able to weather the little bit of new-baby jealousy that might occur."

He leaned down to brush his lips across hers.

"Have I ever told you that I find that analytical little mind of yours incredibly sexy?"

"I tend to recall you saying that a time or two." She smiled as she tugged on his hand. "Now,  _please_  come to bed?"

"Okay, okay, quit your fussing," he teased. "It's not good for the baby."

"Just lay down, bird boy."

He stretched out behind her then, curling his arm around the two people who meant the world to him and holding them tight.


	3. Chapter 3

_A baby_  was his first thought.  _She's having a baby_. That thought was quickly followed by another, far more profound one:  _she's having_ Grayson's  _baby_. Damian felt as if he had been cast out into a churning sea. On one hand, he was immensely pleased that Grayson was making an honest attempt at making his relationship with Kean work. On the other, he knew everything was about to change because Kean was having a baby.

For the rest of their lives, Grayson and Kean were linked, bonded together because of the life that they'd mutually helped create. And while he wanted them to be together, wanted them all to be a family, in fact, he just wasn't sure about how he felt about this soon-to-be addition to their little Batclan. He'd only  _just_  accepted that he had a mom and dad who loved him, and older brothers who annoyed the ever-loving  _crap_  outta him. He simply wasn't sure that he was ready to share Kean with the microscopic being growing inside her belly. No more than he was ready to share Grayson for that matter.

Damian had only recently realized that if Raya Kean was his  _mom_ , then Dick Grayson was, without a shadow of a doubt, his  _dad_. Nobody but his dad would bring holy terror down upon a criminal empire for merely having threatened to lay a hand upon him. And nobody but a dad would run to the grocery store after a long night of fighting crime just to get his son ginger ale and saltines. That was just the kind of man that Richard John Grayson was. No matter what emotional baggage he was dealing with, no matter how exhausted he was, he was there for his family. One hundred percent, no questions asked.

The last year had brought about a lot of changes in the once easy going, wisecracking superhero. Grayson had become a much more somber and serious man since Father's death. He had tethered his often times reckless nature and started employing a much more strategic type tactic when he was out on patrol. And even though he still made his quirky and witty remarks, that carefree, playful side that was such a predominant part of his personality, was no longer as prevalent as it had been. It was as if being forced into becoming the patriarch of the family had not only prompted Grayson to finally mature into his adult skin, but convinced him that he was worthy of taking the leadership role that came so naturally to him.

Damian was old enough, and wise enough to know that some of that had also happened because he had taken Father's death personally. Grayson blamed himself for not seeing that the venerable Dark Knight was not physically or mentally up to the task of fighting Darkseid on his own. Grayson's conviction about it having been solely up to him to make sure that Batman got home safe that night and his feeling of having failed to do so caused his personality to take on a darker, colder edge. Because family, Damian had come to realize, meant everything in the world to a man like Grayson.

_And Heaven help whoever is foolish enough to threaten a member of the family._

Mother had found out the hard way about what type of man Grayson was. She could not push around and manipulate Grayson as she could Father. He was not blinded by any type of tender feelings for her and could not use him as a means of manipulation. Not that she had not attempted to. Damian had stood in awe, unable to believe that the two people who were not required to protect him, who were not even supposed to fight for him, were, in fact, doing so.

Batman and Robin might be known as the Dynamic Duo, but Kean and Grayson were a force to reckon with when it came to a member of their family being threatened or hurt. Grayson had held the point of his own sword to his mother's throat and told her, in no uncertain terms, that if she ever came near him again that she wouldn't have to worry about Raya ending her, he'd do it himself. It was the first and only time that he'd ever heard Grayson make such a deadly promise.

That was the moment when Damian realized that he was being given a chance at finally having a  _dad_. Bruce Wayne would always be his father, but they simply had not had enough time to forge a true father-son relationship. And while Grayson was certainly never going to replace his father, he was a pretty awesome substitute. Grayson had forged a bond with him when they had been partners. Now he taught him all those things that only a dad could teach to his son.

Grayson loved him without attaching requisites to his love. He was there for him whenever and however he needed. Grayson listened whenever he needed an ear, gave him a shoulder when he needed one, offered him encouragement whenever he doubted himself and his abilities to function as Robin. Much as Kean had chosen to be his  _mom_ , Dick had chosen to be his  _dad_. He'd remain his dad until the day that he died.

And for all that Talia al Ghul was his  _mother_ ; she was nowhere near as amazing as his  _dad_.

His mother wasn't the one who would sneak him out for a late night patrol when he was feeling hemmed in by the four walls of his bedroom. Nor would she drape an arm around his shoulders whenever he was missing Father. His mother couldn't answer any question that he asked her without lying, nor did she speak to him as if he was her son and not one of her subordinates. Talia al Ghul would never allow him to sleep in her bed whenever he was sick or injured. Nor would she try to tease him out of one of his black moods by cracking some lame joke that would have him rolling his eyes more often than not.

His mother would never put up with his surliness, or his explosive temper. She wouldn't patiently wait out one of his tantrums and then suggest that they go grab dinner at his favorite Thai restaurant. She wouldn't listen to any of his problems or ask him his advice about a particular business proposition. She'd certainly  _never_  include him in any of the "discussions" she'd had with his Grandfather in the past.

She definitely wouldn't sit and play hours of Mortal Kombat with him. Or sneak him chocolate ice cream with peanut butter cups crumbled on top. She wouldn't take him to the carnival on a school day, or handoff a patrol to Drake just to take him to see that new movie that he'd hinted at wanting to see. She would not think to book weekend mother-son getaways or surprise him with a family campout at the Manor. She certainly would never encourage him to test his hand at sculpting and painting or help him build a car from the frame up. His mother would certainly never support his defense of animal rights or allow him to adopt animals who'd be euthanized otherwise.

She didn't know about his decision to become a vegetarian or that he had rescued a cow from the slaughterhouse simply because it had a bat shape pattern on its face. And that was because Talia al Ghul had never taken the time to actually get to know the child she had her team of  _scientists_ create in a test tube.

She knew absolutely nothing about him because she didn't care to know anything about him. Damian Wayne was nothing but a weapon to Talia al Ghul. He was a means to her end objective of seeing Grandfather's longstanding goal of burning Gotham to the ground achieved. And for all that Talia al Ghul liked to claim that she was his mother, she was really nothing more than his egg donor.

It was the exact opposite of Kean and Grayson. They were not having a baby in order to use the child against him, Gotham, or each other. This baby was a representation of the love that they felt for each other, which they'd shared with each other. And they were going to love this child that they had created with every fiber of their being. And he knew that this child was not going to replace him or takeaway from the relationship that he had with either of them. Unlike Talia al Ghul, their hearts were big enough to allow them to love each and every one of their children equally.

It was then that Damian realized that the only thing about his life that was really going to change with this baby's birth was that  _he_  was going to become an older brother. He was going to be responsible for teaching this baby all those things that Grayson had taught him. This baby was going to look up to him, was going to rely on him, and was going to need  _him_  as he needed Dick.

Suddenly, the idea of this baby wasn't so terrifying. In fact, he was beginning to like the idea the more that he worked it around in his mind. He especially found himself liking the idea of having a baby sister. Particularly if she ended up with that miles wide smile their dad could brandish at the drop of a dime. And got that warm and gentle heart that branded their dad as the hero that he was. And he really liked the idea of a little sister with green eyes like their mom.  _And who can sing like her,_  he thought as he turned on his other side and studied the woman sleeping quietly beside him. And he hoped she'd smell like the air after a summer rainstorm.

It was his absolute favorite scent in the whole wide world.

_Grayson, you've done good_ , he said silently as he snuggled in and slowly drifted back to sleep.


End file.
